by Donna Alward
She let out a breath, the air forming a cloud above her head. She had to move soon or he’d reconsider kissing her. Which would be a huge mistake, especially in front of the only store in the community with everyone watching. Even he understood about gossip in small towns. More than she realized. He’d pretended to be surprised she knew Grant, but he wasn’t, not at all. He knew all about their past association. How could he, in all conscience, kiss a woman he’d lied to less than an hour before?
“Maggie?”
“Yes?” She shoved her hands into her pockets.
“What’s for dinner?”
She smiled at him then and he suddenly realized he’d been waiting for it. Maggie smiling sucked all the bitterness out of the cold air and replaced it with something else. He felt better than he had in a long time, and rather than analyze it to death, shoulds or shouldn’ts, he simply enjoyed it.
“Come inside and we’ll find out,” she suggested impishly, darting for the door, her dark hair streaming out behind her in the wind.
Movie be damned. Nate was starting to realize it would take more than a DVD to keep him from thinking about Maggie Taylor.
Nate followed her into the store, more intrigued than he remembered being in a long time. He’d sensed a lot of things about Maggie since arriving, but a sense of fun wasn’t one of them. Especially this afternoon when she’d nearly come undone in front of Grant. Yet watching her eyes twinkle at him as she flicked her hair out of her face, he realized there was more to Maggie than met the eye. Much more. He was beginning to regret not kissing her when he’d had the chance.
“Hey, Nate, you helping here or what?”
He straightened, pinning a smile on his face. “Helping with what?”
“Dinner. You pick it, I cook it.”
She was standing at the meat counter. He went up beside her and noticed she was quite serious about choosing choice cuts. “Steak?”
“Yeah.” The corners of her lips flickered in teasing. “You caveman. Like red meat, yah?”
He couldn’t stop the snort, surprising both of them. “Yah, red meat good.”
“T-bones or rib eyes?”
The very thought had his mouth watering. He was used to cooking for himself, pointless as it seemed. It had been a long time since any woman had taken care making him a meal. To be given the choice…
“Rib eyes. And mushrooms.”
She ordered the steaks, adding in a good-size portion of stewing beef for another meal.
“Any other requests?”
She turned with the paper packages in her hands and he swallowed. She was making an effort, he realized. To dispel the gloom from the start of the afternoon and replace it with something bright and shiny.
“I trust your culinary judgment completely. Surprise me.”
She started down another aisle, but turned her head at the last moment. “I just might, Nate. I just might.”
He had no doubt about it.
CHAPTER FIVE
IT SEEMED changed somehow.
The house actually felt different with Jen gone. Her presence had been a barrier between Maggie and Nate in one way, and brought them together in another. Now, with just the two of them at Mountain Haven, the opposite was true. Her absence was forcing them together physically, but propriety reared its head again and Maggie tried to keep things how they were supposed to be. She’d said enough this afternoon, when Nate had invited her confidence. It really wouldn’t be wise to smudge the lines any further. No matter how empty the house felt with Jen gone. No matter how tempting Nate’s company could be.
She opened the oven and pulled out the cookie sheet, placing it on the stove and turning the roasted potatoes so they’d brown evenly. She was a hostess cooking dinner for a paying guest. That was all.
Then why, oh why, did it feel like a date, for heaven’s sake?
She paused, the spatula frozen midturn. Because after only two days she’d allowed him in. She’d broken her own personal rule about becoming friends with guests and had told him personal things that had been incredibly painful to verbalize. It had felt good to talk, and she’d needed it, but Maggie knew it couldn’t happen again. She couldn’t let herself become vulnerable to him. To anyone.
She slid the pan back in the oven and turned her attention to the Caesar salad. Cooking soothed her, warmed her soul. It was more than nourishment, always had been. She’d learned to cook at her mother’s elbow at a young age, and when she’d been orphaned, it had been the one task that gave her any sense of comfort, of connection. It still did.
Nate came to the door and she wondered, in a moment of sheer fantasy, what it would be like if he came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. To feel the comfort tangibly from his touch, more than the pressure of his hand on hers as he took her keys, like this afternoon. He looked like he’d perhaps taken advantage of the time to have a nap. His cotton shirt was wrinkled and his hair was slightly mussed. There was definitely something to be said for the rumpled look, she thought as her mouth went dry.
“Smells good.”
She reached into a jug, pulling out her favorite salad utensils, using dinner preparations as a refuge. Talking out of turn while she was raw and upset was one thing, but she’d had time to pull herself together. It was up to her to set the tone where it ought to be.
“Thanks. I thought we’d eat in the dining room tonight.” She held out the salad bowl. “The steaks are almost done, but if you could take this in, I’ll be there in a minute.”
When she entered the dining room, she was struck yet again by the sense of intimacy. It was the custom for her guests to eat here, but she’d never experienced a feeling of “specialness” to the room before. Now, with Nate present, it looked—felt—changed somehow. Richer, darker, smaller.
It would have been an out-and-out lie to think that the extra effort she put into the meal was completely platonic. She’d wanted to impress him, to do something special. Perhaps because of how nice he’d been to Jen, or because he’d put up with her episode this afternoon and had listened to her troubles. Perhaps because she was tired of being lonely, of going through the motions, and he was a willing ear.
She put down the tray and unloaded the serving bowls. Nate stood at the corner of the table, pouring the merlot she’d uncorked.
“Thank you.” She took the glass from his hand when he held it out.
“No, thank you,” he murmured. A candle hissed and sputtered before finding its flame once more. “You’ve outdone yourself, I can tell.”
“Nonsense.”
He waited until she was seated before taking his own, and she glowed inwardly at the presence of manners.
“This looks wonderful, Maggie.” She handed him the platter, steaks surrounded by herbed and browned potatoes and he helped himself.
“All in the line of duty.” She brushed it off with a glib comment.
His hand paused, then put down the platter. He seemed to think for a moment, his lips pursing in a thin line. “I get the feeling you’ve been doing things in the line of duty for a really long time. Especially after what you told me this afternoon.”
She looked away. Was she that transparent? She’d told him little about her life in the greater scheme of things. Just the basic facts. But what he said was true. She’d shut away so much of life, had focused on what she did and bringing up Jen. It was easier than letting her heart get involved again.
“I enjoy what I do.” She put him off. Talking about the bed and breakfast was a nice, safe topic.
“When was the last time you did something purely selfish? Just for yourself?”
She couldn’t remember, and she was disconcerted that he’d been able to read between the lines so easily.
She made her hands busy by filling his salad bowl. “I love my job, you know. I couldn’t do it otherwise. It makes me happy.”
“I don’t mean your job.”
He put his hand over hers, stopping her from fiddling with the salad. “Maggie.�
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She stalled, caught by the simple touch.
“Whether or not it’s your job…thank you. For making me feel at home here.”
Maggie looked up. His eyes were completely earnest, caught somewhere between that blue and hazely-green color.
“You’re welcome.”
His gaze held her captive in the flickering candlelight as he held her hand. “And for trusting me this afternoon. I’d like to think—maybe—that we’re becoming friends.”
She pulled back. “I don’t usually befriend my guests, Nate.”
He thought for a moment, then a smile brightened his face, as if he knew that was exactly what she was supposed to say. “Yes, well, I’m special.”
She couldn’t help the quiver of her lips at his teasing. How was she to answer that? She got the feeling that he was, indeed, special. Different. But to say so wasn’t wise.
“Don’t let it go to your head. And thank you. For being so kind today. I’m sorry I was all over the map. I don’t usually fall apart in front of my patrons.”
“You’re welcome.” He pulled back, buttered his bread and broke it into crusty pieces as they enjoyed the meal she’d prepared.
“So, anything else I should know about Maggie Taylor?”
She’d hoped that thanking him would put an end to the personal talk, but that wish fluttered away. She wondered if it was the cop in him, the need to ask so many questions. She focused on spearing a lettuce leaf. “I told you anything that’s interesting. I’m really very boring.”
He laughed, cutting into his steak. “Yeah, right, Maggie. The last word I’d use to describe you is dull.”
She picked up her wine and drank to hide her face. Was he serious? Dull is exactly how she’d put it. She’d had the same life for the last decade and a half. Running this business and raising a daughter. Watching middle age creep up on her. Nothing exciting in that.
“What do you want to know, then? How much starch I put in my pillowcases? Do I grow my own herbs?” She tried to make a joke of it.
“Sure, if that’s what’s important to you.”
A smile teased her lips before she straightened once more, the picture of propriety. “I sprinkle, not starch and I grow some of my own herbs, but not all.”
“Did that hurt?”
“No, I guess it didn’t.”
They ate in silence for a few more minutes and then Nate spoke again. “I’m more interested in how you became the person you are now. How you grew up and what made you choose this as your livelihood.”
The crisp romaine leaves wilted in her mouth. She swallowed. Damn him. “The life story of Maggie Taylor? Only if you’re having trouble sleeping.”
“Why do you do that?” Nate pushed away his plate and cradled his goblet. “Why do you diminish who you are, what you do? I wouldn’t have asked, Maggie, if I didn’t think it was worth knowing.”
She flushed. She had no wish to unearth the pain and disappointment she tried to keep buried every day. Or go into the sad and lonely reasons why she’d chosen to open a bed and breakfast. What she’d revealed earlier was all he was getting today. It was time to put a stop to this line of questioning right now, because she was beginning to feel like this was an interrogation, not a heart-to-heart. Like he wanted her to tell him things she shouldn’t. She stood, piling his plate on top of hers. “Do you want dessert? There’s pumpkin cake with caramel sauce.”
His eyes assessed her; she could feel them burning into her as she cleared the dishes.
“I’m sorry, I’m prying. It’s unfair of me.”
“Yes, it is. I appreciate your listening to me this afternoon when I was upset. But the details of my life are personal. And I know you will respect that.”
“I like you, Maggie. I was simply curious.”
She couldn’t seem to come up with a response. He stood and gathered what was left of the dirty dishes and followed her into the kitchen, putting them on the empty counter.
“Maggie?”
“What.” She put down the dishes and turned to face him. She couldn’t do this. Being stuck with someone every hour of the day was for some reason, very difficult. Most who came to Mountain Haven were interested in the area, in their lives—not hers. Trouble was, she wanted to tell him. To unload all the pain she’d held inside for so many years. She didn’t understand it. Couldn’t fathom why he was different. She’d never felt such a compulsion before.
He didn’t say anything. He stood not five feet in front of her, but nothing came out of his mouth. She saw the muscles bunch beneath his shirt and she wondered what it would be like to run her fingers over the skin of his arms, of his broad shoulders.
“What,” she whispered again, shocked when she heard her voice come out warm and husky, like the caramel sauce she’d made for the cake.
Without warning, he took two steps forward, curled his hand around her head and kissed her.
His lips were warm and tasted faintly of the acidic richness of the merlot. Taken by surprise, and on the heels of her own thoughts, she didn’t push away. Her lashes fluttered down as his arm came around her, tucking her close to his hard body as his lips opened wider, taking the kiss deeper.
And oh, he felt marvelous. Strong and patient and thorough. Her heart pounded, sending the blood rushing through her veins, awakening her. He was vibrant and young and mysterious and so very, very real. Her hands slid over his shoulder blades, down, down, until they encountered the back pockets of his jeans.
He broke the kiss off in stages: gentle, fluttering tiny kisses on the corners of her mouth, making her weak in the knees and wanting more, not less. She chased him with her lips, and he caught her bottom one in his teeth before letting go and putting a few inches between them.
She looked up, frightened by the intensity of his gaze, more frightened that perhaps her own mirrored it so blatantly. It was a shock to realize that she wanted him. Wanted a man she hardly knew. Wanted him in the most basic way a woman could want a man.
Right now she’d crawl into his skin if he’d let her.
She pushed away blindly, stopping only when her backside hit the counter. Her breaths were shallow, ripe with arousal. All from a single kiss, a few fleeting moments where their bodies touched.
“I’ve wanted to do that all day.”
And the words, huskily spoken in the muted light, sent a rush of desire flooding through her.
Shame reddened her cheeks. This was wrong. He was patiently waiting for her reaction and all she could do was feel embarrassed that he’d affected her so strongly. She’d pushed away her sexual being for so long she’d all but forgotten it existed. Had settled for a dim appreciation of a man’s looks on occasion. But she’d never, not since Tom, behaved in such a wanton way.
“I…you…pumpkin cake.” She stammered and wanted to slide through the floor into oblivion. Any pretense of dignity was gone.
“Not right now.”
“C…c…coffee?”
“Maggie. Should I apologize?” His words were soft, with that hint of gravel rumbling through and her pulse leaped at the intimacy of it. “I don’t want to.”
I don’t want you too, either. She raised her chin as best she could. She had to put some distance between them somehow. “It would be appropriate.”
Who was she kidding? It wasn’t like she hadn’t participated willingly. He might have initiated it but she’d been right there, keeping up.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was husky-soft in the dim light filtering in from the dining room. “I’m sorry you’re so damn pretty I had to kiss you.”
Holy hell.
She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t. “Yes, well, I’ve known you two days. You’re a guest in my house. A paying guest. Perhaps you should remember that.”
It might have worked if her voice hadn’t trembled at the end. She gathered what little bit of pride she had left around her and swept from the room.
He wasn’t the only one that needed reminding.
Sunlight
filtered through the window of the bedroom as Nate stirred. He squinted against the bright light, checking his watch. Eight-fifteen. He never slept this late.
He usually didn’t lie awake until the wee hours thinking, either. But he had last night.
He rose, pulling on the clothes he’d laid out. Thermals beneath heavy gray-toned camouflaged pants. Thick socks and a long-sleeved undershirt under a crew necked cotton pullover. He’d layer today and adjust. Took the backpack out of the bottom of the closet, left in it what he’d need and stowed the rest in the bottom of his duffel.
A day out of the house was definitely in order.
He’d been foolish to kiss Maggie last night. Problem was, he’d been thinking of it all afternoon and through dinner. He enjoyed seeing her flustered, enjoyed the moments of banter between them. But then, seeing her vulnerable, knowing how difficult she found it watching her daughter leave, brought out his protective side. It was something he’d inherited. He couldn’t do what he did without it.
He put the pack on the bed, seeing her sad eyes in his mind. It wasn’t all about justice. Most people thought so, and for some it was true. But not for him.
Sometimes it wasn’t about punishing the guilty, but protecting the innocent.
He padded down the stairs in his stocking feet and wandered into the kitchen. It was quiet; not a dish or crumb in sight. The appliances gleamed and floor shone. He smiled to himself. He was beginning to recognize her penchant for order, especially when she was preoccupied. Had his kiss done that? Or had it simply been because of Jen?
He frowned as his early morning thoughts trickled back. Had she put all that extra effort into the meal, had she kissed him back, simply as a substitute? To keep herself from thinking about her daughter’s absence? Had he been a distraction?
And wouldn’t that be a good thing? A harmless flirtation was far more desirable than something complicated. Yet…the thought of him being a stand-in chafed, good idea or not.
Nate wondered if Maggie had had the same trouble sleeping and was making up for it now. Quietly he filled the coffeemaker and started the brew filtering. There was no sense dwelling on it. A more important question was whether or not she had a thermos on hand for him to take with him today.
